How To Raise a Colony
by AsWeAreNow
Summary: Typical ‘America as a colony’, except England is the main character. TW for mentions of past child abuse, child abuse, and just general trauma. Please keep yourself safe.


**This isn't a ship story. I don't have anything against USUK/UKUS; it's just that America is a child in this and pedophilia is extremely fucking disgusting, which I'm sure we can all agree on.**

It was a beautiful day, but England didn't care about that.

What he did care about, however, was—

France punched him in the face. "He's mine! My little brother!" France shouted.

England kicked him in the stomach, propelling himself away from France rather than affecting France. They ran at each other again.

America started crying. Really loud wails.

And that was how they passed the rest of the afternoon. It was absolute chaos; shouting and screaming and tears.

It continued well into the night. In the morning, everyone was tired. America had slept inside of a log, effectively hiding from them. England and France had fought the entire night.

America crawled back out of the log.

France saw him and whistled, beckoning to him. "America, you little rodent! Come over here and stuff your face with some wonderful food!"

England opened his mouth to offer something. He watched as America went over, toddling on his little legs and almost falling over a few times.

He looked around wildly for something, anything, to call America back. But he didn't. So he did what any teenager would do in a time of desperation: he sat down on the log and started to cry. It broke under his weight, so he let out an even louder sob and then quieted down again.

America watched. He grabbed a few last handfuls off of France's platter and then started running over to a England, still cramming his mouth with French food.

He reached England and patted him on the arm. "Umm... Are you okay?" He asked.

England looked up incredulously. "Yes," he started, "but I'd be even better if you picked me."

America didn't know why he had to pick someone, and he didn't know that he wasn't even really doing the picking. So he said, "Okay," and that was it.

England smiled and picked America up. He glared at France for a moment, who was leaning in the bushes and talking. He shivered and kept walking. "It's a nice day," America said.

England looked up at the sky. The clouds drifted by lazily. The sun was shining, but not too brightly. "Yeah, it is." And so it was.

(Linebreak.)

England came across America in a field of yellowing grass, which was great because he'd been looking for America. England marveled at the fact that he seemed drawn to his colony. Then, he was part of the empire.

America ran up to him. "You're not... scared of me?" England asked.

America thought for a moment. "No," he chirped, shaking his head. He reached his arms up. "Pick me up, please!"

America really liked being held. England was surprised that he knew how to speak, seeing as he didn't seem to have anybody taking care of him.

England picked him up, holding him.

America crawled onto his shoulder, similar to the parrot he missed dearly. "Woah! It's so pretty from up here!"

England looked around. "I suppose it is." Patches of yellow grass littered the green. It could look better, really.

America was still amazed, though. England tried to sit, but America's protests brought him back up.

"Who do you stay with when I'm not here?"

America shrugged. "No one," he said after a moment.

"That's really sad," England said. "Are you okay, all by yourself?"

America shrugged again. "I like it when you're here," he said after a moment. "'Cause you can lift me up and I can see from all the way up there!"

England smiled weakly. He patted America's head and then brought him down to the ground again. He held America and looked at him for a moment, imagining him all by himself. "Where do you go when I'm not here?" England asked.

America cried, "Up!" And then leapt onto his shoulder again. This time he just stayed slumped over. "I dunno," he said after a moment. "Just wherever." He sounded a little sad.

England decided to change the subject and quickly exclaimed, "I'm going to teach you a new game, America!"

They played Tag for a long, long time.

(Linebreak.)

The real trouble started soon after, though. England had to actually raise America. And he was excited, but he really didn't want to fuck up.

All of the people he'd asked had said that physical punishment was necessary in children, that they were little devils and they needed to be raised strictly.

England was trying his best to imagine laying a hand on America like that, but whenever he did he started getting really uncomfortable. He couldn't help but imagine America crying, or even worse— God, _no—_

He couldn't get the image of America in pain out of his head.

England got up. He knocked on his neighbour's door.

"Arthur, why the fuck are you at my house? It's two in the morning."

"I wanted to ask you a question, Mr. Wellington." England said. And he sat down on the porch and asked, "Why do you hit kids? Doesn't it hurt them?"

Wellington said, "Well, it's not supposed to hurt. It's painful, yes, but it's not supposed to actually cause damage to them. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Go back home." Mr. Wellington shut the door.

Well, that didn't help one bit. England flopped back onto his bed, fumbling in the dark to light his candle. He lit a candle, but that didn't help either. So he blew it out and just laid there.

He didn't know what to do. He wouldn't hit America— even if everyone else said it wouldn't actually hurt him, England didn't know what they meant, and he'd probably go too far and hurt America because he was a horrible person— but he didn't know how he would punish America otherwise. _He's a colony. He won't do anything wrong_, England thought.

He couldn't help but think that he shouldn't have taken America. _But no, because America would be better off with me than with that jerk France. _

The problem, England decided, was that he was fucked up. After all, he trembled at the mere thought of disciplining a child! He couldn't let France see that he was so weak—

He finally fell asleep— he had nightmares, but at least he didn't have to think anymore.

England found himself ill in the morning.

(Linebreak.)

England avoided America for a long time after that. Finally, finally he gathered up the courage to see America again. And this time, he'd be staying for awhile.

"Britain! I missed you so much!" America ran up to him, little gown _swish_ing against the carpeted floor. He tripped. One of his maids stifled a laugh, running up to help him, but he was already up, tugging on England's pant leg.

England bent down. "Are you alright?" He asked.

America nodded. "Britain! I wanna show you something!" America took his hand and led him outside. England and to bend over to keep holding America's hand, but he did. He hurriedly put his bag down.

America let go of his hand. "Look! Look what I learned to do!" America climbed up the tree.

England laughed nervously. "That's great. Please come down now, before you get hurt."

America hurriedly climbed down the tree again. He laughed and tugged England's pant leg. "England," he said. "Let's go have tea!"

England smiled. "Okay," he agreed. They went back to the house, America running ahead of him, giggling the entire way.

England strolled along. He wanted to run, too, but he had to exercise self-control. After all, America depended on him now.

America had long since been in the house when England climbed up the steps. His toe hit something.

It was a book. He picked it up, murmuring the title to itself. It read: _How to Raise a Colony_, and beneath it, words were scribbled out. England peered at it; it read, "_from Gad_," or at least it seemed to. He'd had a friend whose nickname was Gad a few years ago, so it made sense.

"Woah! Thanks, Gad!" England called out joyously, and then he went inside.

(Linebreak.)

God watched England with some sense of pity. He really did feel a bit bad, watching England freak out over having to raise a colony. He knew that England would be fine without his help, that he'd raise the kid fine, but England didn't seem to know that.

And so he quickly drafted a book, giving England instructions that he knew he would follow. He wasn't telling England anything new, after all— England would've done all these things without a book to guide him. Maybe he wouldn't need the book.

Still— he looked back down at England, still so nervous and upset by everything that he'd been through, still just a child himself— and he decided that England might've been a bit over his head without any help.

So he sent it down. At first he'd written 'From God', but had eventually decided not to put that. And, on second thought—

He changed the wording so that it didn't seem so directed towards England. He read over it again; yes, it now seemed like the book could've been given to any nation.

"Wow! Thanks, Gad!" England's voice rang out. _Well, he's got the point._

(Linebreak.)

England started reading the book late that night. America was asleep. He hadn't wanted to sleep, but England had promised that there would be plenty of time for games the next day.

The book started off with a list of things that shouldn't be done. It was quite self explanatory, although England needed to take a break and walk away from the book after completing about half of the list. It made him feel a bit sick, to imagine that happening to anyone— to imagine that happening to America—

He was done for the night, he decided. He put the book on his nightstand and tried to sleep.

(Linebreak.)

England stayed with him for a few more years, and it was great. Still, America grew up a little and England had to leave.

But he was back. They were playing a card game when someone knocked on the door.

America went to answer it. He talked to the person at the door for a few minutes.

"Yeah, I just came to say 'Hi' to England, and of course to see you," a voice said. England stood up.

Scotland patted America's head. England didn't know how it happened, but in a moment he had pushed America back and was standing between them. "Don't touch him," he snapped.

Scotland raised his eyebrows, and then just smiled. "Okay," he said. "I won't."

England didn't even really want Scotland to be in the same room as America. God, this was horrible.

"Why are you here? How did you even know I was staying with America?"

Scotland sat on the couch, next to America. "France told me," he muttered simply.

_France! That asshole! _England thought. _And now _he's _here..._

England would definitely beat the shit out of France if anything happened.

"Ah, England! You're all grown up!" Scotland exclaimed suddenly. He grabbed England's shoulders. England flinched and looked away.

Scotland let go of him. England sat down again, listening numbly to the other two speak. He hated this. With America in the mix, he had no idea what Scotland would do.

England stood after awhile. It was half past seven. "America, it's time for bed."

"Whaaaat?"

"Come on. Let's go." England grabbed his arm gingerly and led him to his bedroom.

America complained, "Why do I have to go to bed so early?"

England sighed. "I'll explain to you later." They reached the bedroom. England lit a candle and made America sit on the bed. He leaned in close and whispered, "But for now... Once I leave the room, you need to lock your door, blow out the candle, and go to sleep. Okay?"

America looked confused, but said "Okay," so England left. He closed the door and stood outside of it until he heard the lock click. He stood there for a moment longer. Perhaps he was overreacting, but he really didn't know what to do. Gad hadn't exactly written about how to protect a colony from someone like Scotland. His arrival was the sort of thing you'd call an unforeseen event.

England went into the living room again. "Why are you here?" He demanded.

Scotland looked up. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. Is that so bad? You have a fine colony. You're doing okay." England bristled at his words.

"So leave, then," he responded.

Scotland stood. "You really didn't need to lock your colony away from me. It's not like I'd do anything." He stretched. "And I know what you're thinking: _Bullshit, he hurt me— _ but it's not like I'd ever hurt someone without reason."

"You're an arse," England muttered.

"Uh-huh, sure. You can act like the victim all you want, England. You can say you were young, or that you were just following my example, or whatever the hell you want, but in the end, all of the things you pretend to be traumatized by are your fault. You brought them on yourself." Scotland paused for a moment. England opened his mouth to speak; Scotland quickly jumped in: "Don't talk. I wanted to tell you something else."

"Fine," England muttered.

Scotland looked up. "Why would you choose to have a colony? What the fuck is wrong with you?" His voice was hushed; he clearly didn't want America hearing their conversation. "If you're so damn traumatized, don't you think you'll be just like me? Why would you want to push that onto someone else?"

"I'd do better than you," England snapped.

"Better than me, right, right. Because you're never anything like me, you daft cunt." Scotland waved one hand in the air. England flinched again. "See, that's exactly what's wrong with you. You've played the victim so goddamn long that you think you are one. Why would you raise a colony? You can't even take care of yourself. You're a fucking child, and you're going to hurt him when you do the wrong thing. He's never going to forgive you."

England backed away. "I'm doing my best," he said.

"You're a terrible person, England," Scotland said. "I thought you were at least kind enough to realize that and to try not to inflict your presence on other people, but apparently not." Scotland backed away. "Whatever. I can't save him, and I won't try to. But you should at least think of what you're doing next time."

"I did think about it!" England insisted. "I'm going to do what's right. I am doing what's right. I'm doing my best, and he's happy. That's more than I could have ever said when about my big brother."

Scotland struck him in the mouth. It was a hard punch, and pain erupted throughout his jaw. "You're a fucking coward, England. You couldn't protect yourself, or anyone else, from a bloody cat. What makes you think you could keep him safe? That you could raise him, and do a good job at it? Honestly, England, tell me." Scotland took a quick breath and continued. "Here's the problem, England. You're acting like you can be good. You can't be good. _You _might think you'd do anything for him. But would you? If it comes down to him or you, who do you defend? You can't raise a colony. You'll always put yourself first."

"Leave my house," England managed.

"Thought this was America's," Scotland bickered senselessly.

"I bought it. Leave it now." England was trying to be strong. Really, he was.

Scotland sighed. "Goodnight, England. Tell America that I wished him a good day." He left.

England sat there for a few moments, and then walked to the bathroom and spit the blood out of his mouth. He went to America's door and listened for a few moments. It was silent. He knocked gently, so that if America was awake he'd hear, but if not he'd stay asleep. "You can come out now," he said softly.

England went to his room, sat down, and did nothing. One of America's maids came by later and offered to help him with the bruise that was forming just under his jaw, but England rejected.

He laid there for a long time, just staring at the ceiling and trying to comprehend what had happened. He couldn't stop thinking of what had happened.

Someone knocked on his door. England stayed silent, not wishing to talk to anyone.

America entered his room, leaving the door open. "Britain?"

"Yes, America?" England asked, sitting up.

"I had a nightmare," America said.

"Oh, really? Was it the one about the ghosts?" England asked. He was responding too slowly, but trying to engage in conversation was difficult enough as it was.

"No. It was about Scotland," America said quietly.

England didn't know what to say. He started trembling. Scotland was right about that, apparently. England couldn't protect himself or his colony. "I... I had a dream that he hit you."

England forced a smile onto his face. "It was just a dream, America. Come here." He held out his arms. America ran into them, and England hugged him gently. "You should go back to sleep, America," he said after a moment.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" America asked.

England was beginning to think that America was a bit old for that, but he wasn't in the position to decline. So he nodded and rolled over, leaving space for his colony to climb in next to him.

They were silent for awhile. America finally said, "Britain, I don't think you're a bad person."

"Thanks, America."

"I don't agree with anything he said to you."

"You heard?" England turned to him. "America, you— oh, I'm sorry."

"And I heard him hit you," America said. "So I don't get why you're lying."

England sighed. "You should've gone to bed like I told you, America." He couldn't hide the tears in his voice. He really didn't want to talk about it; especially not with a young child, one that he was supposed to protect. He could feel himself starting to shake even more. America could no doubt feel it.

"I think you're really great, Britain," America said earnestly. He wasn't really picking up on how upset England was, which was just as well, now that England thought about it. "And I don't think you're anything like Scotland. I don't like him very much."

"Thanks, America," England said again, softer this time. After awhile, he said, "Get some rest."

"Goodnight, Britain."

"Goodnight, America."

(Linebreak.)

Everything was just fine for a few years, and then it all went to shit.

**Sorry to end things on such an abrupt note, but I couldn't just disregard the Revolution entirely. **

**I don't really think Scotland would be as much of an asshole as he is portrayed in this; as is increasingly common these days, this was mostly written just as a way for me to deal with some personal shit.**

**I tried to keep things consistent with America calling England "Britain" and England otherwise being referred to as England throughout the story, but I might've fucked something up.**

**Additionally, I'm not trying to push any sort of agenda with the whole 'God/Gad' thing. It isn't meant to degrade anyone's religious standpoint, and I don't wish to offend anybody.**

**I'm also sorry if the characters come across as a bit OOC. I'm going to be honest, I'm really not all that good at imagining a child's perspective, or how the nations might act/respond to things differently as children rather than as teenagers/young adults. **

**Anyway, a review would be wonderful. Regardless of anything previously mentioned, have a good day and stay safe.**


End file.
